Now she was crying, for sure. Softly snuffling, not blubbering in a way that made him uncomfortable. But he wasn’t through yet.
“Here’s the thing, Savvy. Here’s the thing. I don’t have all those degrees, like you do. And I don’t have a last name that opens doors. Up until yesterday, I thought that maybe—just maybe—there was an outside chance I could make something out of my experiments. Take what was handed down to me and become an entrepreneur, like your father. Become worthy of you in my own right. Now, all that’s gone. I’m not ashamed of being a laborer, but I need to put it right out there, not hide from it. I know there’s not a chance in hell you ever thought you’d end up with a common workingman. But if you’ll have me, I’ll make you the happiest damn woman on the planet. And that’s a promise.”
“Oh, Esteban.” Savvy leaned past the steering wheel to put her arms around his neck. “You already have.”
Her cheek was wet. She dipped her head to kiss him, and he took it up a notch, delving into her mouth with his tongue, reaching to cup her dainty breast, loving how his outsized hand dwarfed it even more.
Her fingers slid between the snaps on his shirt.
He took a steadying breath. “You don’t know what that does to me.”
Her hand left his chest to curl around his quad, where his thigh met his torso.
“Savvy.” She was ten inches shorter than he and a hundred and thirty pounds lighter. So how was it that she could control him with a feather-light touch of her fingertips?
He removed her hand from his thigh, kissed it, and held it to his chest. “Not in the car. You’re too good for that. Give me a week, and I’ll have a place for us to go to be alone together. Cristo, give me ’til tomorrow.”
Pop, pop, pop went his shirt snaps, and she bowed to nuzzle his chest with her nose.
He closed his eyes and rested his head against the leather headrest, picturing them as they had been the day they’d met, she in her tight-ass bun and nun’s habit, he grungy as a stray dog.
Who would’ve believed that, two months later, he’d be stroking the length of her long, thick locks as she kissed a path down his stomach?
Gently, firmly, he pulled her up. “Hey. We took one chance already.”
In the past, any other woman would have had to hold him back like a freight train. But with Savvy everything was different. He exalted her. And hopefully, this was only the beginning. They had a lifetime ahead of them to do things right.
“Wait.” She reached into the back seat and found her bag. Rummaging around, she pulled out—not a foil square, as he’d expected—but a tumble of small boxes. “Look what I have,” she sang like a teenager, spilling them onto his lap.
“What the—?” he exclaimed. “What is this, Christmas? What are we going to do with all these?”
“Use them, what else?” she answered. There was just enough moonlight to catch the glint in her eyes. Until him, she’d been a twenty-seven-year-old virgin. She was so, so late to the party. So sophisticated, and yet so naïve.
He rifled through the boxes, straining to pick out the descriptive lettering on them. “What’d you do, buy one of everything?” He couldn’t help chuckling at her zeal to catch up.
“Well,” she said defensively, “I wasn’t sure what size you were, what kind you liked.”
“You weren’t sure what size I was?” His laughter came harder.
“I have no one to compare you to,” she huffed.
“Oh, my.” Now he was having trouble breathing, he was laughing so hard. “You see? This is what I’m talking about. Everything you do, you go all the way.”
Savvy wasn’t laughing, though. She’d begun gathering up all the boxes from the seat and where they’d spilled onto the floor, shoving them back into her bag.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “What are you doing?”
“I’m putting them away. Sorry for not being a prophylactic pro.”
“Hold it.” He reached for her. “Did I hurt your feelings?”
Her jerking her arm away was answer enough.
“Chula, the first time, I was out of my mind. That was a . . . a celebration of being alive.” He wanted every time they made love to be a celebration. He didn’t want anything coming between them. Not even a sheath of latex.
But he also didn’t want her to ever have to look back and wonder if a poor boy had trapped a rich girl into marrying him by getting her pregnant. He wanted her to say yes of her own free will, not out of any obligation.
While she was still rounding up her stupid boxes, he got out of the car, strode around to her side, and yanked open her door, holding out his hand. “Don’t worry about those. Come here.”
She still looked hurt, though she didn’t object when he reached for her hand and gently tugged. Just tumbled out and leaned against the car with her arms folded.
“There’s more than one way to get the job done, counselor,” he whispered. He reached up and took off those infernal glasses, laying them on the roof. Then he began gently working out the elastic band that held back her glossy auburn mane. Finally the band sprang away into oblivion. Then he lowered his head to hers.
She was slow to respond. But when he pulled her to him and kissed her, his hand making circles on the small of her back, her mouth parted . . . a little. And then, eventually, her arms unfolded and found their way around his neck.
Esteban flipped up her skirt and slid his fingers up her leg to her hip, then under the side of her panties. Felt like lace this time. Sweet. Not that it mattered. She would be hot even in burlap. Then he switched hands, working the thin, stretchy material down first one side and then the other until they finally dropped.
He slid his hands under her ass and easily scooped her up, leaving her white panties lying in a heap on the black pavement. Inexperienced as she was, her legs somehow instinctively knew how to wrap themselves around his waist, locking at the ankle.
Now she was right where he wanted her, sandwiched between him and the Mercedes, suspended by a combination of the tilt of her pelvis, the slope of the car, and his hips. The heat of her body activated her fragrance. They kissed in the ways they’d already discovered, and added more.
They were in a public area. Anyone—the cops, the paparazzi—could pull in at any time. But they were still fully clothed. If he saw headlights, it would only be a matter of smoothing down Savvy’s dress.
He couldn’t see it in the dark—couldn’t even feel it through his coarse pants, but he knew that her most sensitive, intimate place pressed, vulnerable and open, against the rough denim of his jeans, and it made him almost loco with desire to please her. He began rocking against her, slowly at first, then faster as her body responded. Her grip on his neck grew tighter. Behind their kisses, she started making little mewling noises in her throat. When she had to tear her lips from his or suffocate, he peered down on her face in the moonlight and watched her lose control, panting as he kept up the rhythm.
Chula.
When she collapsed against him like a rag doll, he felt like the king of the world. He stayed with her, cupping her rear . . . biding his time until her shredded breaths tapered off to sighs.
After reining himself in to focus on her pleasure, her total innocence of his plan for what he intended to do to her next was almost too much for him to endure.
When she finally found the strength to lift her head off his shoulder, thinking they were finished, he stroked the hair away from her damp temple and kissed her forehead. Savvy moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue and smiled.
That’s when he knew it was time.
Slipping his hand between them, he found the slickness he’d known would be there, and used it to ease the friction.
The pleasure it gave him to surprise her with another orgasm so quickly more than made up for containing his own.
“Mía.” he whispered in her ear. Mine.
Chapter 28
Opening day. The day his fami
ly worked toward all year long. Madre always arranged their harvest in a way that made the Moraleses’ stall look more colorful, more luscious than everyone else’s. She chatted with the women, exclaiming over their cell phone photos of their growing children, and upsold the men with their meager grocery lists. Once people tasted the Moraleses’ tasty products, they almost always came back for more.
Esteban pitched in wherever he was needed, loading and unloading the crates of produce, helping sell when Madre got too busy, emptying the cashbox into the bank pouch when the stack of ones started spilling over, same as he always did.
This year’s opening day felt different, though, thanks to the GOING OUT OF BUSINESS sign that Esteban had scribbled and stuck in the ground. The news quickly spread that the Moraleses’ first market Saturday of the year would also be their last. Madre still smiled for the customers and Padre still hung out quietly in the background, but Esteban knew that deep down inside, they harbored the same confused feelings he did.
He had to admit, from a purely practical standpoint, Savvy was right. It made sense to take the two million and walk away. No more money worries, no more aching backs. Still, this market was a part of them. They were saying good-bye to a whole way of life.
Just like Bodega, the market was a melting pot of Napa Valley. Its packed stalls were a feast for the eyes as well as the palate. Especially on opening day, it was hard not to run into someone you knew. Esteban was toting another case of bags from the truck about mid-morning when he spotted Shane, sauntering shoulder to shoulder through the alley with a gang of guys from downtown. One of the guys, Justin Thompson, was okay, but most of the others were the type who bounced from job to job, earning just enough to get wasted most nights. If it weren’t for the free live music and festival atmosphere of opening day, they probably wouldn’t be at the market.
“Hey, E!”
Esteban nodded, his face half hidden behind the large box in his arms. From the corner of his eye, he saw Shane elbow the biggest man—Steve something, his name was. Years back, Steve had given Esteban the stink eye at a bar over a girl they both were hitting on. A girl so insignificant Esteban couldn’t even recall her face.
“Dude. What happened to your hair?” prodded Steve with a cocky grin.
Let it slide.
“Oh, yeah, thanks a lot for dumping me at Salt Point a couple weeks ago,” said Shane, throwing up gang signs with his hands.
What Esteban wanted to say was how ballsy the slightly built Shane was when he was surrounded by a pack of thugs. But he had better things to do.
“Thinks he’s better than everyone else since he’s humping one of the St. Pierre sisters,” called out Shane to his back.
He felt his jaw set. Let them have their fun. They weren’t worth the trouble of wiping blood off his knuckles. But he couldn’t resist a glance.
“What?” Shane spread his arms innocently, walking backward, his eyes flickering left and right for moral support. “Everyone’s talking about it. They’re all like, what’s he doing with her? And I’m like, happens all the time. Everybody knows those wine princesses love to go slumming. Hook up with the help.”
Esteban kept on walking, his temples beginning to throb with his blood pressure.
“You seen her? The brunette one with the glasses? I’d tap that,” said an unfamiliar voice.
“You know how it goes,” said Shane, raising his voice even louder so Esteban would be sure to hear. “It never lasts.”
Esteban was almost to the stand when he heard their parting comment.
“Gonna be a kept man, now that ol’ Xavier St. Pierre bought out the Moraleses, lock, stock, and barrel.”
He stopped in his tracks then. Set down the box. Turned. The others were now hastening away with wary backward glances.
Not Shane. Printed boxers bagging above the waistband of his jeans, still counting on the half dozen larger men to stand up for him, he continued to taunt.
“Didn’t know that, huh? Look at him. He looks so surprised. It’s a bitch when you’re the last one to know, isn’t it, E?”
How he got there, he’d never know, but Esteban found himself on top of the smaller man, fist poised above his face. “That’s where it ends,” he growled.
Shane covered his face with his hands. “Hide your crazy, man! Don’t blame me—ask Hector! That’s who told me!”
Hector, Shane’s cousin. A wine distributor.
“Everyone knows. Tell him.” From where Esteban was trying not to bash his face into the pavement, Shane’s neck craned behind him to his gang, who had stopped some feet way. Too brave to run, not brave enough to enter the fray.
Esteban peered up at them too, searching face after face, the question plain in his eyes.
“It’s true, man,” Justin Thompson said, his voice holding a twinge of regret. Justin’s mom had worked in a winery since before God was born. She knew everybody and everybody knew her.
Esteban let go of Shane, rose and stood over him, unseeing. There was one way to find out for sure. When Savvy got there, she’d refute what they’d said. She would.
Shane scrambled to his feet and strode away brushing the dirt off his sleeves, cocky as ever.
Esteban turned to see Padre standing white-faced at the rear of their market stand. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
“Padre?”
He ran to him.
“Padre?”
Chapter 29
Finally, the weekend! Savvy stretched, yawned, and picked up her phone on the bedside table to check the time. Today was going to be a busy one. She planned to be at the ranch to look at the still by nine-thirty, then hit the market during its peak hours.
Her emotions zig-zagged as she went through her morning routine. She was excited to visit the Rathmell Ranch again and finally experience the market Jeanne had been raving about all these years. But she couldn’t shake her guilt. Her first market visit would be the Moraleses’ last day in business.
Selling still made sense from a money standpoint, but the major lifestyle change was going to take the Moraleses some getting used to. Normally, retiring and selling a home was something people took years to map out. By the time they finally made a decision, they’d already worked through some of the feelings of loss and resignation that came with the freedom of letting go.
If only retiring had been the Moraleses’ idea. If only Savvy hadn’t been the one to impose it on them.
While she waited for Anne Rathmell to answer her knock, Savvy studied the alcove surrounding the entrance to the ranch house. It could use a little attention. Clearly, the leggy weeds springing up around the squat silver and gray succulents weren’t part of the original landscape design.
The door swung wide, but it wasn’t Anne on the other side. Savvy lowered her gaze to a man in a paint-spattered cotton smock, seated in a wheel chair.
“Hi. I’m Savvy. I think Anne is expecting me?”
“Lucas Rathmell. Watch it—I seem to get paint everywhere when I work,” he warned before shaking her hand.
Savvy smiled. “Don’t worry. One of my sisters is an artist.”
He wheeled himself around to go down the extra-wide hallway, and Savvy noticed even his chair was smudged with blotches of color.
“Annie?” Lucas called out. “Someone here to see you.”
Anne appeared from around a corner, slightly breathless. “Didn’t hear the bell. I was on the computer doing one of those—what do you call it? Video-chatting things—with an old colleague from Stanford. Sorry to interrupt your painting, Lucas.”
“S’okay. Needed to stretch my legs, anyway.” He grinned at being the butt of his own joke.
“Did you two meet? Hold on, Savvy, let me find my sun hat.”
On their way to the distillery, Anne asked, “Just you today?”
“Esteban’s family runs a stall at the Napa farmers’ market. Today’s their opening day. I’m going down as soon as I leave here.” Thinking about seeing him made her heart flutter.
&
nbsp; Anne looked at her. “I was going to ask if the two of you are close, but that look in your eyes says it all. He’s not what he seems on the surface, you know.”
Savvy shot her a curious look. “What do you mean?”
“He may look like nothing but a big, strapping farm boy,” said Anne, holding open the distillery door for her. “But there’s a lot going on up here.” She tapped her head. “He’s very bright. And very sensitive. Don’t forget, I was a clinical psychologist for many years. I’m pretty good at reading people.”
Inside the distillery, a decade’s worth of dust bombarded Savvy’s nose. She sneezed.
“It’s a disaster in here, isn’t it?” said Anne.
More dust motes stirred up by their boots clouded the air, filtered by rays of pale light that managed to get through a grimy skylight. Built-in shelves lined the room, no doubt designed for holding the yield from the still.
Savvy walked over to the machine and drew a visible line in the soot along its girth, wondering if the brown tarnish could ever be rubbed off the copper. In her mind’s eye, she saw the sun glinting orange off the still’s newly restored finish, the shelves filled with sparkling glass bottles. “Oh, no, it’s great.” She spread her arms and spun around. “I’m in love with it. All of it.”
Savvy was glad Anne thought it was a wreck. That meant she’d be more likely to let it go.
“What would you say if I offered to take it off your hands?” she asked.
“What? You want to buy that old thing?”
At that moment, Savvy couldn’t imagine anything she’d like more than fixing up that still, stuffing its canister full of lavender, and sniffing the heavenly scented hydrosol and essential oil that came out the other end.
A Taste of Sauvignon Page 16
